


it may look like (Write it!) like disaster

by Notevenaproperword



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Angst, Humor, a bit of both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notevenaproperword/pseuds/Notevenaproperword
Summary: Lady Felicia's losses are sometimes her gains; but at times, a loss is loss and nothing else (a collection of little stories about things and people Lady Felicia Montague has lost in her life)





	1. Her right shoe

**Author's Note:**

> (title from One Art by Elizabeth Bishop)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cira for the wonderful suggestions and the much needed corrections.

I. Her right shoe  


Felicia 'Windy' Windermere had received the most darling pair of shoes for her sixth birthday. They were made of a dark brown leather and had very strong shoelaces. In the girl's eyes, they were perfect for two things: running with her brothers and feel like a grown-up. Little Felicia wore them whenever she could, which meant whenever she was awake.

 

Until one day, the youngest three children went to visit Uncle Henry, who was her father's younger brother, and his wife, Aunt Luise, who had a funny way of speaking and hair as blonde as the moon at night. (Felicia's brother Henry was rather proud of that comparison and Felicia found it rather clever too.)

When they left, their mother had gone to bed and when the three children came back (just a day after that, in Windy's head ; it was a week in adult time), she was gone.

They had to wear dark clothes and their father didn't look like their father anymore. His eyes were gaunt and sad. They told her her mother had gone and Felicia didn't quite understand.

 

The following day, Felicia woke up, as usual. The house was quiet. She dressed herself, yearning for air, grass under her soles and trees above her head. She tried to tie her strawberry blonde curls but she failed and gave up. There was no time to waste. She went searching for her shoes, found one easily but not the other. So she went looking for her mother because her mother would surely know where her second shoe was.

She looked and looked, and asked but the only answer she got was : "She's gone Felicia." And so she thought they were all talking about her boot, which had run away during the night. It was a funny thought, a little boot escaping a big house and disappearing in the dark. She asked about mother then and they shook their head, repeating the same sentence over and over again : "She's gone Felicia."

It made Felicia furious inside. _A lady never shouts or cries_ , her nanny repeated each time the girl would throw a tantrum. The little lady chose to wait for her mother at the gates of the house so she could be the first one to see her mother returning. (Even though she didn't understand where she had gone in the first place.) 

She stole one of Henry's shoes and was delighted to find that it wasn't too too big for her. She walked to the gates for what seemed like an hour, but was really half that. There, she perched herself on the bench besides Mr Partridge's house and waited.  She waited for hours and hours, until she felt so hungry she didn't feel hungry anymore, until the sun went up and down again, until she heard faint and distant cries and silence. Felicia waited for her mother.

 

It was Aunt Luise who found her, she was holding a lantern and Felicia thought her aunt looked very much like a good fairy. The woman rushed toward her, her accent thick and harsh on her tongue.

"Felicia, my little darling, everyone's looking for you!" The woman cried out, relieved and angry.

"But I was waiting for mama. Because mama knows where my other boot is." Felicia answered, her feet still dangling over the wet grass.

"Your other shoe ?" Aunt Luise asked, failing to understand. 

Felicia pointed to the mismatched shoes she was wearing. 

"Oh Felicia..." Aunt Luise's voice faltered. She gathered her niece in her arms and held her tight against her chest.

"Darling," she then whispered in her unkempt hair. "Darling, you understand that your mother is gone."

Felicia nodded against her aunt's shoulder. She pushed back a little.

"But tomorrow, she comes back?"

Felicia saw the tears at the corner of Aunt Luise's pretty eyes and put her little hands on her face, to catch them.

"No my darling, your mama is gone forever."

"Can't I go to?" The little girl asked, candidly. Luise swallowed hard and sat down on the bench, Felicia on her lap. She kissed the girl's cold little fingers and sighed.

"No my sweetling, not for a very very long time. You see, your mama was very sick and her body stopped working, so she died and she won't come back."

"But who will help me find my shoe? And brush my hair? And -"  


"Shush, my little darling. Don't trouble yourself, I'll help you do that and you have Nanny. And when you miss your mama and you feel very sad, you can cry."

An objection died on the child's lips. She looked into Aunt Luise's watery eyes and then at her own feet ; the mismatched pair of shoes looking stupid now.   
  
She started crying.


	2. Father Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> felicia loses father brown

II. Father Brown

 

"What do you mean you lost him?" 

Mrs McCarthy's voice is shrill. Lady Felicia winces, she doesn't know, which, between her ears or her ankle, hurt the most now. Sid ignores the fight and steps into the kitchen, his employer in his arms.  
  
"I didn't lose him,  _he_ lost me! And then I almost got lost too!"

Sid carefully sets Felicia down on a chair and takes her ankle in his hands. Lady Felicia winces again when he takes off her shoe.

"The poor Father! Lost in the woods! In this weather! Couldn't you have followed him more closely?!"

Bridgette drops a basin of water on the table, it spills. 

"I tried! But one of my feet got stuck and when I finally freed myself, he was gone!"

Sid sighs, dampens a tea towel and starts cleaning Felicia's bruised foot.

"Couldn't you have worn more sensible shoes for once in your life?" Mrs M bites back.

"My shoes  _are_ sensible!" Felicia protests and Sidney eyes the shoes, unconvinced.

The women stay quiet for a minute, Mrs McCarthy fetching ice from the refrigerator, Lady Felicia biting her tongue because of the pain.

"The poor father..." Mrs M mutters as she comes back with ice in a towel. "Sidney, you have to go and find him."

Sid looks up and arches an eyebrow. Lady Felicia's eyes water.

"In this weather? Not a chance."

Mrs McCarthy doesn't answer just yet. She pushes Sid's away first, bends to unceremoniously bring Lady Felicia's ankle up. The redhead lets out a sharp cry of pain. Bridgette sits down, her unlikely friend's usually dainty ankle in her lap. The ice in the cold towel hurts at first, but the throbbing pain starts to decrease and Felicia exhales loudly.

"Fine, let him freeze to death." Mrs M finally spits out. "But if anything has happened to him, I will hold you both accountable."

Sid and Felicia exchange a glance and swallow.

They spend the night worrying about Father Brown (and Lady Felicia's ankle), because the _bloody_  telephone won't work.

 

Father Brown comes back at dawn, after a night spent in a barn. He finds Felicia and Bridgette asleep on the sofa, the younger woman resting her head on the older's shoulder, their hands intertwined. He notices the bandage around Lady Felicia's ankle, and the fact that she is wearing one of his pair of woolen socks too. He smiles, goes in the kitchen and finds Sid sipping at a cup of tea.

"You all right Father ?"

"Fine, thank you Sid."

They sip their tea in silence, the loss of it a looming threat.


	3. The baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does god allow suffering ? super short, me trying to pretentiously perhaps write a sort of poem

III. The baby  
  
  
First, it (he) was inside, growing and growing and growing and growing and growing and growing and growing and growing and growing  
  
Then, it (he) was out: **A L I V E**

Now, it (he)'s gone, gone. 

 

What do you call a mother with a dead son? 

She looks at the space between her trembling fingers.

_Grieving._


	4. Mrs McCarthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs M/Lady F friendship #friendshipgoals

IV. Mrs McCarthy

 

At the very beginning, she calls her _the parish secretary_ with enough disdain to poison a whole village. She almost can't control herself, her beautiful face twists in a mirthless little smirk.

Then for a short period of time, shorter than fluttering eyelashes and longer than half a breath, she's _the Irish dragon_. But it doesn't sound right, nor does it easily roll off her tongue. Mrs McCarthy is a mighty creature, she decides, but the dragon doesn't fit and so it goes. Its fleeting existence burnt down to ashes.

 _Mrs McCarthy_ makes its entrance, neutral and just mundane. Anybody could call her that, and in fact, everybody does. But of course, no one says it quite like Felicia. _Mrs_ is uttered quickly; it doesn't matter and it lures Mrs M in a false sense of security. _Mc_ follows even more hurriedly ; it's the sound of blades clashing together during a fencing duel. It reminds said Mrs McCarthy that they are opposites and that Lady Felicia enjoys and values a good sparing partner. The _Carthy_ part takes longer, goes higher and sounds softer while also making it like she's constantly mocking the woman, if only just a little. And that's when the fondness, the smile and the friendship comes in.

 _Mrs M_ follows naturally, and says it all. There's the _Mrs_ particule, still not that important and still reminding the woman that they were sparing partners first. But it now also signifies that Mrs M is a Mrs, just like Lady Felicia is a Lady and Father Brown, a Father (as in priest). It completes the trinity. The _M_ makes Bridgette more mysterious and it goes well with Lady F too. _M_ is fondness and amusement, and friendship and irritation, and care, and tea around the parish's table with scones and laughter. _M_ sounds like _aime_ , as in j'aime, tu aimes, il aime. (I love, you love, he/she loves) _M_ makes her almost family.

The ache is far crueler than she thought it would be. It runs deep, from her throat to the pit of her stomach and goes back up again, seizing her heart and clawing at the corner of her eyes. Leaving for Rhodesia means losing Sid and Father Brown, Mrs McCarthy and Mrs M all at once.

But there, she finds _Bridgette_. It's amusing to say, though she does not say it often, and seeing sprawled on the paper makes Felicia smile. _Bridgette_ means she always will have a seat at that table in the parish of Kembleford.


	5. Her Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is almost made of my headcanon for Felicia's family.

V-Her brothers  
  
Felicia Windermere was born the last child and sole girl of The Earl of Windermere and his wife, Grace, on a cold November morning. “A girl, it’s a girl!” The child’s mother had cried, tired but relieved to finally have a little lady to spoil and raise as she saw fit after the uninterrupted string of boys she had given birth to and who would inevitably come to see her as a charge instead of as a woman who had, in their youth, taught them how to hold a fork and a knife.

The girl’s father had been just as pleased, as he had been after all his children’s births. His little princess already had glistening eyes, which he attributed to malice rather than tears caused by the frightful pain of filling one’s lungs with oxygen for the first time.  
Felicia was baptised as such for she did not cry long and was already considered as everyone’s lucky charm.

By being born, the little girl also gained six older brothers who would in turn love, cherish, protect, torment and tease her. However, she learnt the hard way that what she had gained that day, she would be bound to lose another.

 

* * *

  
(part I.)  
  
The hardest losses were caused by war. Felicia lost two of her brothers to that harsh and unforgiving reality.

When the Great War broke out, Felicia was barely one year old and frankly couldn’t care less about men and boys slaughtered in damp and dirty holes on the other side of the channel. To this day, the First World War was a blur in Felicia’s mind.  
She only remembered her brother Peter, older by eleven years, sometimes shouting about things she didn’t understand. There was a particular memory too that she thought was never a memory but a dream : the feeling of his lips on her forehead in the middle of a night.  
She also remembered her mother shouting behind closed door _He’s barely sixteen! He’s a boy!_ and no answer from her father.  
It was only years later that Felicia understood, Peter had run away in the night, lied and fought in a war who had robbed him of his last streak of carefreeness. When he came back, she did not recognise him. He was pale and sad and he locked himself in his room day at a time, he never got married and always said life had no meaning though he sometimes let himself be convinced to play cricket with them, when Felicia asked nicely, and it was him who taught her how to climb trees. He liked the forest and being far above human concerns. She could hear him cry at night and she told her eldest brother once but Richard told her never to repeat such things again.  
  
When Peter died, everyone said it was a dreadful accident, Felicia knew it was war.  
  
World War Two was a strange experience. She was married, still young and unwavering in her will to help both her husband and her country. She worked, hid in the underground during the Blitz and attended parties at the Ritz. One minute she was counting the seconds between life and death in a overcrowded room, the next one she had a glass of champagne in one hand and curtseyed respectfully as Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands made her way through the crowd. And at the same time, Charles Windermere, three years older than Felicia and a virtuose of a pilot met his end in the spring of 1944. The triumvirate of the younger Windermere children was a member short. His body was never recovered and though his loss was great for Felicia, whom he had taught to drive, it was even greater to the wife and son he left behind.  
  
When Charles died, everyone said it was heartbreaking but that he had died a hero, Felicia knew that she, and her sister-in-law, would have given anything for him to come back. Neither of them felt entirely sure that a hero’s death was worth the pain.

 

* * *

   
(part II.)  
  
Losing two of her other brothers to society did not hit her in one go as war had done with Charles and Peter. It was a long loss, with no beginning and no end.

Richard was her eldest brother, the heir to their father’s titles and lands. He was born and bred to take their father’s place one day and being twelve years older than Felicia, she always saw him as the most serious of her brothers. She didn’t realise that his play time was shorter and shorter each day, and his face harder and harder too. At some point, he didn’t even took the time to be beaten at chess anymore. (After a long string of defeats, Felicia, age 16, had finally beat him and never lost one game after that). She realised she had lost her brother to society, long before he even became Viscount Windermere and their father was cold in the ground. She was seventeen and living the kind of nightlife he still chastises his daughter Bunty for today. Although, she had avoided the tabloids, people talked and others listened. Her brother had heard about one of her dalliances but had kept quiet about it until one night. There was a party that Felicia was very much looking forward to. She had not been able to talk about anything else for the past two weeks and the much-awaited night was finally, finally, there. But at the very last minute, just as Felicia was finishing doing her face, Richard had asked for her to come downstairs where she had ended up playing chess and beating her brother the whole night. The friends who were supposed to come pick her up never came and she learnt the next day that her brother had told them she was unwell and would not come with them. She was furious and had barged in the study, screaming her head off. She knew she had lost Richard to society when he didn’t even looked at her and said in a cold and patronizing tone that _she would be allowed to go out when she remembered she was the daughter of an Earl and not a floozy._ That sentence alone had the effect of a slap and Felicia stood frozen for a good minute before her brother told her _to kindly close the door when she would leave_. She had stormed out of course, closing the door with all her might and ascended the stairs in a fury.  
  
Felicia had lost Richard, who always picked her first when they were making teams and was secretly proud to never win at chess against her again.

Losing Alfred, one of the twins, to society was even crueller. Alfred was the one who made her love literature. Alfred was handsome, though none of the Windermere brothers were less than good-looking. He was the most handsome and as well spoken as Richard. He would have been perfectly happy being his brother’s second and spokesperson across the Empire. Attending parties, charming his audience, debating about anything with anyone who would prove a great sparring partner, Alfred lived for ideas. He was a wonderful storyteller and an even better writer and poet. Felicia was his favourite audience when growing up because she never ceased asking questions and suggesting little ideas. He would make the dullest of books the most riveting adventure. Felicia loved her brother and when Richard and her father thought it was high time for Alfred to marry she briefly thought that no woman would ever be a true match to her brother.  Truth be told the only person who she thought was good enough for her brother was the friend he had brought back with him after his military service. Felicia was not stupid, she knew Alfred did not like women the way her other brothers did. He finally told her after Peter’s funeral.  
“I’m telling you because I trust you.” She knew already of course but it was something else to hear it directly from him. She had thanked him for his trust and vowed never to betray him. And she never did. Timothy knew too, since the beginning perhaps. The bond between twins was stronger than society after all. Alfred refused match after match, finally saying that he wanted to marry for love. As it turned out, father knew too but was not nearly as accepting as Timothy and Felicia. Alfred ran away with the love of his life because society as it was could not accept them. Felicia would never forget the look on her brother’s face when he saw Timothy and Felicia standing on the dock the day he and Matthew boarded a ship to a new life. Timothy pressed a large sum of money in his brother’s hand as he shook for what he thought would be the last time. Felicia gave them a tin box of biscuits, a diamond necklace and their mother’s emerald ring safely hidden at the bottom. She rearranged her brother scarf and hugged him tightly.  
  
Felicia lost Alfred the day she understood society was crueller than war. She, however, never lost his trust nor his love.

 

* * *

  
(part III)  
  
The third thing she lost her remaining brothers to was far sweeter and could not be avoided. It pained her to realise it but she lost her two last brothers to their families.  
  
Timothy, who was far less the story teller than his twin brother. Timothy was a wonderful tactician but didn’t wish it to waste his life on war. He decided to follow the path of law and became a judge. Felicia had always liked her brother’s efficiency and his ability to get straight to the point. Timothy had the uncanny ability to make everything easy to understand. He was only five year older and had more patience than all her other brothers put together. He was kind and fair and, as his brother did, only wished to marry on person and for love too. His bride of choice was the impoverished relative of a very interesting party. Alfred’s escape played in Timothy’s favour. Before, neither Richard nor their father would have allowed the marriage because the girl worked as a secretary and was far beneath Timothy’ station. Felicia simply thought her future sister-in-law was a little boring. But that was what Timothy loved, though he didn’t find his wife boring. He loved her sweet nature and her way of taking life as a continuous gift. Felicia was far from being a pessimist, but her sister-in-law was sometimes a little too optimistic for her liking. But after all, they were happy and no one saw fit to prevent them from marrying. They had four children and were the perfect family. They were welcoming, perhaps a little too much and Felicia always felt out of her place when in their company. _You’ll see when it will happen to you, Felicia. You’ll see._  Justice Windermere repeated again and again to his little sister. But she saw nothing and he couldn’t explain it to her.  
  
She lost her brother to family and she could never resent anyone of anything for it.  
  
Henry’s turn came during the Second World War. Henry was merely a year and nine months older than Felicia. Henry was her best friend and worst enemy. Their siblings used it during games, there always were moments during which Windy had to face Baby. Henry was nicknamed Baby because he was the baby boy and cried far more than Felicia did. Those nicknames infuriated them both and this was the glue holding the greatest duo known to mankind together, or at least within the Windermere family. They were in constant competition and everything Henry learnt, Felicia did too. Be it reading, history, mathematics, fencing, lying, drinking and everything else. Their bond was so formidable that visitors thought the Windermere had had two sets of twins. This, of course, annoyed Henry because he was older and _not at all like that little imp_ . Henry was proud of his sister’s accomplishment just as she was of his. In Felicia’s mind, and perhaps she had been a little silly, her path and Henry’s would never diverge and what Henry did first, she would do too. Her brother also believed this to be true. Even though, he was now Doctor Henry Windermere and she remained The Honourable Felicia Windermere. Then Felicia married first, three years before the war, although she was too young in all her brothers’ opinion and too unprepared in Henry’s especially. But the bond remained strong, Felicia wrote more letters to Henry during the war than she ever did to the others. As a doctor, he was deployed where he could be useful and at the end of the war, it meant France. Since Felicia was walking ahead of him, he found a way to catch up on her. He was a handsome British officer and doctor in a country the allies had just liberated. Constance de Fleury was the daughter of a good family working as a nurse for the Red Cross. They were married by January 1946 and settled in London. Felicia could not have been more pleased by her brother’s newfound happiness. But as with Timothy, when the child came, Felicia felt cast aside and even, childishly, replaced. The couple indeed loved Felicia so much they named their daughter Félicie, in honour of her aunt Felicia and her French origins. (Though later, the child came to be known as Lucky to avoid any confusion).  
  
Felicia lost her brother to Constance and little Félicie, to bliss and happiness and she was no monster; her loss meant a greater gain to someone else.

* * *

  
Felicia lost her brothers to life. Life who gave her something good and happy at the beginning just to make sure that she would lose something, not because she was careless but because she grew, and grew older, and old ; but because she walked the path of life and people always did stop, for water and to catch their breath. Nostalgia could have taken her down but she knew that looking back was easy, and far, far away from her standing point in Montague Hall she would always see her six older brothers playing with her on the green wet grass.  
  
(She also held firmly  onto the belief that a path is never straightforward and she would meet them again someday)


	6. Bunty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before the series starts

VI-Bunty  
  
Losing Bunty was easier said than done. Felicia had taught the girl well, almost too well. Dickie had an odd way of punishing his daughter. It was as if he had forgotten about Felicia’s own little adventures. Putting his daughter in his sister’s care was clearly the worst way of punishing her. Sure, Montague Hall was a countryside estate and lacked the excitement of London but Felicia was not exactly known for being a devout catholic either.    
  
The honourable Penelope Windermere, known as Bunty, thought that in a post-war society young women in general should have fun and make the most of what the world had to offer. For Bunty, it meant going to nightclubs you were clearly not old enough to go to, tricking men into letting them drive their car and more generally, throw a pinch of madness everywhere you went. But sometimes, there was no one to corrupt and life became utterly boring.    
  
Lady Felicia Montague was not, by definition, a boring person. It just happened that during that July Felicia was enjoying the company of a handsome American who had had the misfortune of pretending the British did not know how to have a good time. Felicia, a patriot with a love for challenges, had decided to prove him wrong. The arrival of Bunty had not been a problem until one night. 

Bunty had heard where Felicia was going  —  a place known to be very selective and where almost  _ everything _ happened  — and she naturally tried to tag along.    
Her aunt’s answer had been a clear No. (In spite of Bunty asking six times per minutes.) The seventeen year old was not coming to a club when her father had sent her away to be kept out of trouble.

So the girl resorted to another solution and hid in the trunk of the car her aunt should have taken to go. The car moved for a very short while and then stopped. The club couldn’t have been  _ that _ close otherwise, Bunty would have just walked. She waited for the car to start again. But after an hour and a half, it had not moved by an inch. Bunty understood that her aunt had tricked her. She sighed, it was a good trick, and  reached to get out. Her fingers found the locking latch and tried to trigger it. The trunk’s lid didn’t budge. She tried again. And again. And again. Bunty stopped breathing.   
_ Shit _ . She was stuck. She cried out for someone to help her out, banging her hands and feet on the surface. To no avail. She stopped moving altogether and listened carefully. She heard nothing and started to panic again. She was going to die in a car’s trunk. Beautifully made up, sure, but she was going to die. She could see it : her photograph in all the papers, her aunt being accused of the worst vices, the Montagues ruined and her father hating his sister for the rest of his life. The press would dig out everything they had buried on her father’s orders and she would be remembered as the party girl who loved partying too much and died for it. Not appealing.    
Bunty tried to calm herself. If she made it out alive, she would be able to blackmail her aunt into taking her anywhere. The thought brought a wide grin back to her lips.    
  
Felicia, on the other hand, was enjoying herself tremendously. The ‘pretend to take one car’ trick had worked wonders and here she was, having fun, without having to worry about her niece’s possible  _ accomplishments. _ She just hopped the girl would have the good sense to come out of the trunk at some point and not let herself die there.  _ Bunty is not stupid _ , she thought as she raised her glass to her lips. Champagne made everything easier, the bubbles of the drink popped pleasantly on her tongue and fifteen minutes later she felt charmingly lightheaded. The lightheadedness evolved to another level but Felicia never let alcohol cloud her judgement (or not to the point of being too dangerous for her own person at least.)    
  
When she came back to Montague Hall, her American  — who was seriously getting boring  —  deliberately abandoned in the arms of another, it was five thirty and Felicia was delighted to reach her bed. She slept till eleven when Hornby politely knocked on her door.   
  
“My lady, we might have a problem.”   
  
Felicia groaned and then made a noise Hornby interpreted as invitation to come in. Felicia sat up in her bed. Hornby was carrying her breakfast tray and did not say anything he had set it down on her lap.

“We have lost Miss Windermere.”  
“What?!” Felicia choked on her tea.  
“This morning, I set her breakfast in the dining room for nine thirty as usual but she never came down. Her room is empty and no one has seen her since she retired last night.” Hornby explained, unfazed. “We have searched everywhere and her father just called to say he would come for tea this afternoon.”  
  
Felicia lost all her colours. She discarded the tray and set the cup of tea on her bedside table, feeling everything but hungry now. Dickie was going to kill her. Hornby held out her dressing gown for her to take, as if he had read her thoughts, and followed her to Bunty’s room. It was still empty, the bed untouched. _Amateur_ , Felicia couldn’t help but think. She went in the adjoining dressing room. She immediately knew what was missing in her niece’s wardrobe. Hornby didn’t move.  
  
“You’ve searched everywhere ?” She asked, coming back. He nodded. “Monty’s car?”  
“It’s here. But I don’t understand what you’re asking, tt has not moved since you— ”  
  
Felicia didn’t let him finish, something had clicked. She rushed out of the room, down the stairs and in the kitchen, frightening the help. There and without so much of an explanation, she opened the side door leading outside, where the cars were stationed under a canopy. When Hornby caught up with her, Felicia was bullying the cook into taking her shoes off. She had the keys of the Earl’s car in her hand and looked completely mad. Hornby backtracked and found a pair of abandoned slippers he had meant to fix and offered them to his curiously behaving lady.  
  
_Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead,_ Felicia’s mind screamed. Her hands were shaking so much that she had to try several times before succeeding in opening the trunk. Hornby’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he saw what was in the trunk : Miss Penelope Windermere, eyes shut, in what could only be described as a very elaborate party outfit. Lady Felicia shyly reached to touch her niece’s face. _Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead._ Her skin was cold. _Oh god, what have I done?_ But then, Bunty bit her. Felicia yelped, half surprise, half pain.   
  
“Have you lost your mind?!” The Lady shrieked, nursing her hand.  
“It’s called revenge Aunty Leesha!” The girl countered, blue eyes now wide open. “For letting me sleep in that dreadful place.”  
“Why are you here in the first place?!”  
“You know very well why I’m in here! I was trying to come with you but you tricked me!”  
“I thought you’d be able to get out!” Felicia answered angrily.   
  
Hornby raised an eyebrow; it explained why Lady Felicia had decided to change cars at the very last moment.   
  
“I thought I was going to die in here!” Bunty cried. Her whole body was hurting and the fear she had managed to control invaded her whole body. “Nobody heard me scream for help!”  
“Oh Bunty, my darling!” Felicia helped her niece out of the car. “I thought I had lost you!”  
  
The two women embraced, Felicia whispering soothing words into her niece’s dark hair, Bunty desperately clawing at her aunt’s dressing gown. Hornby watched them in silence for a short while, until he felt the scene was simply too ridiculous to bear and cleared his throat. Two pairs of light eyes turned to him. Felicia understood first but didn’t let go of Bunty’s suddenly calmer form. Losing her would have been unbearable.  
  
“Bunty?” She asked later that day, after both of them had washed and dressed properly. “Not a word of this, agreed?”  
“Of course, Aunty Leesha.” Bunty answered, the very picture of innocence.  
  
But Felicia had not missed the glint in her niece’s perfectly blue eyes; she would ask for a retribution later.


End file.
